


Feels Like Home

by nialleritdidnthappen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Gentleness, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Popstar Niall Horan, Solo Artist Niall Horan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:46:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nialleritdidnthappen/pseuds/nialleritdidnthappen
Summary: 21-year-old Niall is the lead singer and guitarist of a pop rock band that is taking the music world by storm. But he comes from a small farm town in Ireland where his tight-knit family still resides, supportive yet somewhat oblivious of Niall's pop-star life. Blissfully secluded in Mullingar, the Horans really don't have any idea just how big a star Niall is... or of the dangers that come with such stardom. Dangers, in Niall's case, being a stalker who begins sending ominous threats.When his team forces Niall to get a personal bodyguard - enter Niall Breslin - he'll do anything to make sure his family doesn't find out who Bressie truly is or why Niall needed to hire him. So when it's decided that Bressie will need to spend the holidays with Niall, for the safety of him and his family, Niall is forced to bring Bressie under the roof of his childhood home for a long weekend under the only charade he can think of to keep the truth from his parents: He pretends Bressie is his boyfriend.





	1. The Note

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoveZiam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveZiam/gifts).



> I'm so happy to be posting this for the Niall-Centric Fic Exchange! This story will be posted 1 chapter at a time since some chapters still need a bit of finessing, but on the whole, you should only expect to wait a couple days between posts! This is for @DoveZiam... and I hope you and everyone else who has a chance to read it enjoys.

Niall shreds the final lick on his yellow Fender Telecaster, and the crowd goes insane. Even in the sweltering heat of the stadium lights and with his head pounding after a two-hour show, he can’t help but grin over at John, who’s following his lead on bass. John laughs, does a few fancy riffs to try to one-up Niall as they all converge around Alex, who hammers on the drums until Niall gives the final cue, and the song finally ends.

But the noise doesn’t. The stadium of screaming fans gets louder still as Niall waves the entire band to join him downstage for a bow. Or rather, several bows. He loses track of how many they take together, all laughing in disbelief that the crowd is relentless in their cheering, even after two encores. After their final bow, Niall suddenly realizes that the crowd has started chanting his name, and he feels like his heart might burst right out of his chest. The boys can tell, because soon, they’re all planting sloppy kisses onto his mess of blonde hair.

They wave, blow kisses, smack each other’s backs and ruffle each other’s hair as they bound offstage, out of the lights, away from the noise, to collapse into a massive group hug.

Niall’s the smallest by far and he’s buried in the mob and can’t even tell whose hands are squeezing his shoulders or whose are slapping his bum, but he can just make out his band’s joyous exclamations over the ringing in his ears and the echoes from the sold-out stadium.

“Little Nialler out there killed it tonight, can we get a _‘yihoo, yihoo!’”_

“Can’t believe they’re still fucking screaming, listen to that!”

“Won’t be able to hear for a fuckin’ month but hell if this isn’t worth it!”

“All right, all right,” comes a loud, stern voice, followed quickly by a gruff hand that pulls Niall from the mob by the collar of his shirt, “Let the kid breathe a minute, will ya, crazy lads.”

Niall laughs and shakes out of his manager’s grip, giving him a playful shove. “Ah, c’mon Paul, the party hasn’t even started yet! Let ‘em celebrate, it’s our last night of tour and we just played a sold-out show at fuckin’ CROKE PARK!”

The band positively explodes with cheers and Louis hauls Niall back into the hug, and Paul rolls his eyes. Niall’s had enough wild nights after shows for Paul to know damn well that once he’s on a post-concert high, there’s no coming down. Well, at least not until he wakes up the next morning, hungover like no other but still the happiest Irishman alive.

“Yeah, yeah, at least get back to the dressing rooms and clean yerselves up before you go out and turn Dublin upside-down,” Paul scolds, though Niall can clearly see a smile curling on his lips.

Conor wraps an arm over Niall’s shoulders and steers him toward the stairs to the dressing rooms, yelling teasingly over his shoulder, “Yeah you got it, Dad!”

Niall bursts into laughter as the rest of the band follows suit, shouting boisterous but affectionate jokes at the designated Tour Dad.

Niall hears Paul shout, “And give your ma a call back, Nialler!” before they descend into the quiet, cinderblock labyrinth beneath the stadium, laughing and singing and joking all the way to the dressing rooms.

“Give your ma a call, Nialler!” Jake mimics, not unkindly. Niall gives him a shove. “Your family here tonight, Ni? We just played Croke, after all. Can’t think of a better time for ‘em to come out. We finally gonna meet ‘em?”

Niall sighs and wipes some sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He’s talked about his family with the band before, it’s not like he totally avoids the subject. But it’s a tricky topic, because no one in the band really gets the small town mentality of home. They’re all from big cities like London and Dublin; not farm homes in sleepy boroughs like Mullingar, where the most exciting thing that happens is when an ice cream van bothers to drive the thousand-plus acres all the way out to your farm so you can get a butterscotch cone.

“Eh, it’s just not their thing,” Niall shrugs, trying to play it off. “Like, you know, they love that I get to do this because they know it makes me happy, but it’s all a bit much for them. Like, the screaming girls, flashy strobes… me da would be buggin’ the guys in the booth to ‘turn it down, s’too loud!’”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. “To each their own, I s’pose. They really oughta come out some time. They’d be so prouda you, way you play, way you’ve grown,” he smiles.

Niall grins and feels himself blush a little. “Thanks, man…”

“Jesus, let’s save the emotional stuff until after I’ve had at least one pint, yeah?” Conor jokes.

He ruffles Niall’s bleach-blonde hair, grinning, “Nicely done, Nialler. Now go call your mammy.”

They all retreat into their dressing rooms, Niall shutting the door to his private one with a click behind him. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, now, after all that noise up above.

His laptop is sitting on the sofa right where he left it. He quickly taps in his password, opens iTunes and hits play on one of his favorite records of all time.

_“We might kiss when we are alone… Nobody's watching… We might take it home…”_

The quiet melody and raspy voice soothe him, help his pulse slow and his breathing even out. It’s a melody that’s like a little piece of home, and by the refrain, he nearly feels like he’s back in his mother’s living room, listening to records on her turntable well past his bedtime.

He keeps the music low, gets comfy on the sofa, and dials home.

“Hello, this is Maura,” comes a gentle voice on the other end.

“Jesus ma, when ya gonna get caller ID so I don’t have to announce meself every time I wanna talk to my folks.”

“Well if that isn’t the loveliest greeting I’ve had in years—”

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna ‘pologize for it—”

“I raised you better than that, you little troublemaker—”

“Must be da’s influence.”

There’s a moment of silence before Niall’s mother bursts into giggles, in that lovely laugh that sounds quite a lot like his own.

“Hey,” he says, to get her attention.

“Hey yourself, mister. How was your show tonight?”

“Oh, ma…” he sighs, getting giddy again just thinking about the feeling he felt up there tonight. “Ma, it was unbelievable. Un-freaking-believable. It just… couldn’t have been any better. Band was tight, fans were singing along to every word, gorgeous night, your son was on fire by the way…”

“Humble, too!”

“Oh, shut it,” he laughs.

She tuts kindly. “That’s wonderful, love. We’re so happy for you. No greater gift for a mother than to hear her son so happy. You’re doing so well, darlin’.”

Niall closes his eyes as she speaks, lets her words wash over him, and lets himself imagine he’s home, in his old bed, halfway to sleep while she pets his hair and tells him about her day, just to lull him.

“Thanks, ma,” he whispers.

“Will we be seein’ you soon, then?” she asks.

Niall opens his eyes and puts her on speaker so he can bring up the calendar on his iPhone.

“Yeah,” he mutters, scrolling through the weeks leading up to the holiday, “We’re in Dublin the rest of the week, a bit of press here and there, couple radio things, one sort of, erm, low-key show on Friday night, then home before Christmas.”

“And by ‘before Christmas,’ you had better not mean 11:59 PM on Christmas Eve…” she stresses.

“That was just that one time! And it was technically still before Christmas!”

“Niall James—”

“I’ll be home on the twenty-third. Count on it,” he promises.

“I am,” she says. He can hear her smiling fondly. “I love you, son.”

“Love you too, ma... So much.”

“Be good for Paul.”

Niall smirks a little, and he’s sure she can detect it, but she doesn’t scold. “Always am. Give everyone hugs for me?”

“Of course, dear. Sleep tight.”

“G’night.”

Damien Rice is still humming softly through his laptop speakers when he hangs up the phone. He lies there on the couch for a moment and rubs his tired eyes, but soon, the sound of his bandmates messing about in the neighboring dressing rooms reminds him that they still have a post-show pub-hop to do. He perks up a bit at the thought. There really is nothing like getting out with the guys to bring him back down to earth after a big show.

He hoists himself off the couch and heads toward the vanity to grab his bath kit for a quick shower, and the sight that awaits him there sends his heart plummeting into his stomach.

The colors alone make his blood run cold: black and blood-red. Magazine clippings with sharp, jutting edges are pasted together on a piece of plain construction paper, and it’s like something out of a movie, something that can’t happen in real life... but there it is. He steps closer, and there’s no mistaking it. Any of it. Not the letter, not the words, and not the bile that rises in his throat as he reads.

_Niall,_

_Enjoy this while you can._

_It won’t last._

_Soon — very soon — the curtain will go down on you._

_Excited for your final show?_

_I am._

_X_

Niall reads it three times. He wants it to be a joke. He wants his bandmates to come bursting in, laughing, teasing him for the look on his face, for how gullible their little Nialler is...

But deep in his gut, he knows that won’t happen. He knows it’s no joke.

He can’t move. His ears start ringing loud, louder, louder still, and suddenly, he’s petrified that the sharp tone could be drowning out the footsteps of an unseen assailant advancing on him right at this very moment and there’s nowhere to run…

Niall jolts into a flight response, but the sight of his own reflection in the mirror under harsh vanity lights sends a horrifying shock through his entire body and he screams, harsh but strangled…

His pulse pounds in his ears. He fumbles for his phone and dials Paul, but when Paul answers he can barely talk.

“Paul… Paul! Need you, right now, need, need, need—”

“Where, Niall?!” he can already hear Paul huffing and puffing as he runs to answer Niall’s call.

“D-D-Dressing room…”

Mere seconds later the door bursts open and Niall bolts into Paul’s arms, clutches him anywhere he can, at his arms, his jacket, panting as Paul frantically tries to discern what’s wrong.

“Nialler, Nialler are you hurt? Are you hurt?!”

“No!” he cries, and he hates that he sounds so frazzled, but his entire body is telling him _run, run, run_ , and all he can do is hold onto Paul and pray for it all to pass…

Paul’s relief only lasts for a second, and he holds Niall firmly by the shoulders and asks again, “Niall, what’s wrong?”

“M-M-Mirror…” is all he can say.

Paul makes for the vanity, and Niall’s about to protest because he doesn’t want to be left alone, even if he’s only a few feet away. That’s when he realizes that stadium security have followed Paul into the dressing room, as have Jake, John, and Alex, who are by Niall’s side in a second.

Paul hovers over the note. He reads it, but he doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t touch anything.

“Boys,” Paul says, turning to Niall’s concerned bandmates. They all stand at attention, and by now, Louis and Conor are hovering at the door as well. “Don’t leave Niall’s side.”

Jake tightens his hold around Niall’s shoulders, and Niall leans into his grip.

Paul turns to the security guards and says firmly, “I need an escort from the stadium immediately.”

“Yessir,” one of the guards confirms, and the team begins escorting Niall out, with the band close behind.

Louis pipes up from the doorway, “Paul, I don’t know if it’s smart to go back to the hotel—"

“We’re not going back to the hotel,” he says. “Just trust me.”

Niall’s vision is a bit hazy, but he must look at Paul with such concern as he’s ushered out of the room, because Paul nods resolutely and calls out to him, “Everything’s gonna be okay, Niall. Hear me? Everything’s gonna be okay.”

But Niall’s not so sure, and he knows the band will look after him, but he doesn’t want to leave without him... “Paul!”

“I’ll be there soon. You’re okay. Go.”

It’s not a request, and there’s no more time to debate. Niall lets himself be steered through the hallways, up the stairs, through the stage door and out the back, where a black SUV is waiting for him. He breathes a sigh of relief when they usher the rest of the boys in too. The last thing he wants right now is drive in separate cars.

“Niall… Niall… _Niall_ ,” comes John’s voice, seemingly out of nowhere. Niall snaps to and realizes he’s been staring straight ahead through the windshield and into the night…

“Wha… what?”

“You’re white as a ghost, bud,” John says, sliding a comforting hand to rub up and down Niall’s back. “Breathe.”

“Sorry,” Niall mutters, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s barely aware of his surroundings, now. Can barely focus on anything except his hands wringing in his lap. His mind is back there, in the dressing room, telling him _run, run, run._

The sob that leaves his lips comes out of nowhere. Even he didn’t feel it coming, but there it is.

John pulls him into a sideways hug and holds him as close as he can, Jake grasps his hand and starts telling him that everything’s going to be all right, that Paul will make sure he’s protected, that they will _all_ make sure he’s protected. The others join in, reminding him that they’re here for him, and that he’s safe, and to just _breathe_.


	2. The Bodyguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks! Comments make my little heart very happy, so please always feel free to share your reactions! :)

“Niall, it’s time.”

Paul has that tone in his voice. That tone Niall doesn’t like, because it means serious business.

“Bit dramatic, that line, don’t ya think, Paul?”

Niall kicks back in his swivel chair, drags the fader up on bass, and adjusts his headphones to completely tune Paul out. It’s usually an understood agreement that they don’t talk business in the recording studio at all, let alone in the control room when Niall’s sampling demos. It’s like a safe space for him. Under normal circumstances, anyway.

Things haven’t been normal for a few days now.

“Don’t be a brat,” Paul sighs. He pulls the headphones straight off Niall’s head and hooks them to the edge of the switchboard.

Niall wants to protest, but he bites his tongue.

“It’s time,” he repeats, “that we got you a personal bodyguard.”

Niall literally recoils at the word. He immediately shakes his head. “No.”

“Niall—”

“No, Paul, we’re not doing this—”

“Yes we are—”

“No, we’re _not—”_

“Godamnit Niall!”

That shuts him up. But he doesn’t uncross his arms, and he swivels to stare intently at the switchboard instead of into Paul’s frustrated, yet concerned, eyes.

“This isn’t a debate anymore. I know you don’t want it. I know you’re hell-bent on believin’ that you’re _not_ an international megastar and therefore can just go about your life doing anything you damn well please like a regular 21-year-old lad, but no matter how bad you want to believe that fantasy, it’s not true. You _are_ a celebrity, people _do_ know your name, and some psycho out there wants to hurt you, Niall. You. Need. Protection. Whether you bloody well like it or not.”

Niall refuses to meet Paul’s eyes. He slumps over the switchboard, tinkers with the dials, and tries not fight back.

His team has intercepted more notes since the Croke Park show. One that, sure enough, had been sent to the hotel they didn’t return to that night, and another was sent straight here, to this recording studio. Same kind of thing as the first: red, black, and white magazine clippings, spelling out threatening messages, each with an ominous reference to Niall’s “final show.” Which is in two days. At The Vault Theater in Dublin. One of the most iconic venues on his tour — a personal bucket list venue, no less — that's also notoriously wild due to the hardcore music-loving demographic it attracts and the cramped 500-person pit capacity. Niall's been dreaming about playing this venue since he was about six years old. And now, all of a sudden, he's all but having nightmares about it. There was even talk of canceling the show altogether, but Niall will die on that hill if he has to. He  _refuses_ to give this stalker that satisfaction, and he's never cancelled a show in his life. He wouldn't do that to the fans. 

There’s an official investigation, now. Actual law enforcement professionals are on this person’s case, and they’ll find him. Niall just keeps telling himself that. They’ll find him, arrest him, and soon enough this’ll all be over.

He doesn’t want a personal bodyguard, and he’s made that crystal clear.

A bodyguard will just make things worse, and Niall knows it. He can fly under the radar by his damn self. Yes, the notes are freaking him out. They freaked everybody out. But he has his band. He has Paul. He has the best crew anyone could ask for. And they have a security team. A good one. But a _personal_ bodyguard is different. It singles him out, makes it like he’s somehow less capable of taking care of himself than the others, like he’s the fragile one everybody has dance around like he’s made of glass. And more importantly, when he’s alone, he wants to be _alone._ Time by himself is already a rarity, and with someone breathing down his back every second of every day, it’ll become nonexistent.

And then, there’s his family to think about...

“So,” Paul says, breaking the prolonged silence, “You wanna meet him, or what?”

Niall whirls around in his chair to face Paul, probably looking like a fucking deer in the headlights, but…

“ _Him_? You’ve already hired someone?”

“Well someone had to do it, ya little—”

Before Niall can protest again, the control room door swings open, and heavy footsteps thud briskly into the space.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Niall swivels around to face the intruder, and though he’ll never admit it, he _definitely_ falters when he sees the bodyguard. The tall, chiseled, _unfairly_ handsome… bodyguard.

 _Bodyguard that I don’t need,_ Niall reminds himself. _Bodyguard that I don’t want, and don’t need, and absolutely do not plan to play nice with._

He’s tall. No, not tall, monstrous _._ At least 6’5”, with huge arms and broad shoulders, a sharp jaw and dark, intense eyes. His black jumper is fitted tightly in all the right places, and his dark jeans and big boots make him look sort of… beautifully dangerous, Niall thinks. That is, before he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be defiant right now; not in a mood to flirt with a guy who’s about to make his life way more complicated than it needs to be.

“Niall, meet Niall,” Paul says.

Niall quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Niall Horan, this is Niall Breslin, and he’ll be your personal security for the foreseeable future — at the very least until this investigation is closed.”

“Friends call me Bressie,” the towering man says. He doesn’t extend a hand or anything, but he looks at Niall expectantly, like he expects him to get up out of his chair and properly greet him.

“Right then, _Breslin,”_ Niall says, with a saltiness that surprises even himself. “How does this work, then?”

Bressie and Paul exchange a quick look.

“Pretty simple, really,” Bressie says. “Everywhere you go, I go. Everything you do, I do it with you. Every safety precaution I order, you abide by. And there won’t be any trouble.”

“Starting now,” Paul interjects.

~

The drive to the radio station is quiet enough at first. Niall sits in the back and Bressie sits in the front passenger side by Eoghan, the new driver. 

But then they arrive, and it all goes straight down hill.

There’s a crowd of fans, as always, and Niall’s ready to greet as many as he can, like he always does. But just as he’s about to meet the first little girl in line, Bressie swoops in like a hawk and steers him away from the throngs, much to their dismay.

“Keep moving,” he asserts firmly, as if Niall could do anything else with Bressie’s hand nudging his back like that.

“But I always meet up with the fans first—”

“You can’t. Not anymore,” he interrupts.

Niall obeys. He sets his jaw and keeps moving toward the doors, and he tries really hard not to look back at the surprised and upset group of people who’d been waiting for him. But he does. And beyond looking upset, they look curious — presumably about why Niall is being herded by a mountain of a man when he is _known_ for engaging with the fans at every turn — and Niall doesn’t like that one bit.

The interview feels more like an interrogation than an interview, by no fault of the DJ. The way Bressie paces back and forth in front of the studio window drives Niall insane. The way he’s so alert — back straight, eyes narrow and darting, head immediately snapping in the direction of any unusual sound — it makes Niall anxious. Which is the exact opposite of what a bodyguard is supposed to be doing.

Niall tries his best to hold his tongue. He really, _really_ does. But after a whole day of this, it all becomes too much. Being herded aggressively away from innocent fans, being followed to the threshold of every fucking bathroom door, having Bressie patrol the area for five minutes _minimum_ every time Niall is about to get out of the car… and the cherry on top of everything is, he can’t even step away from the guy to make one goddamn phone call home to his parents.

They’re in a broadcasting studio, for crying out loud. There are people _everywhere,_ it couldn’t be safer, and yet Bressie _insists_ on coming into the quiet control room with him while he phones home.

That’s when Niall finally snaps.

“You know you’re turning me into a fucking anxiety-ridden _maniac_ , Breslin,” he spits, when Bressie shuts the door behind them. “I didn’t ask for you, I didn’t _want_ you, and now, _because_ of you, I’m more nervous and more anxious than I’d _ever_ been without you. Just thought you should know that.”

“There’s more than one entrance to this room,” Bressie says, sounding completely unaffected, and looking at Niall like Niall is the least interesting thing Bressie has ever seen.

“There’s... _what?_ ”

“More than one door,” Bressie repeats. He gestures in three different areas of the room, like flight attendants do when they’re showing you the emergency exits. Sure enough, there are three doors. “If I can’t stand guard at the one and only entrance to a room, you can’t go in alone.”

Niall just stares at him, fuming. He should be able to make a goddamn phone call to his dad without someone listening in… but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. So he dials, and heads to the farthest corner of the room, putting as much distance between himself and his bodyguard as humanly possible.

The conversations with his parents go about as well as they possibly can, given the many, many lies by omission Niall has to tell them. And that, quite frankly, is the worst part of all. 

~

It’s been a long, long day.

Niall’s mentally prepared to chew Paul’s ear off when they get back to the hotel tonight. But they’ve got a bit of a car ride left.

“You’re from Mullingar,” Bressie says, all of a sudden, from where he’s sat at the opposite window from Niall.

Niall’s a bit taken aback. He was ready to pretend Bressie didn’t exist for the rest of the ride and was hoping Bressie would at least just keep to himself, but… he can’t exactly ignore him while they make up two thirds of the people in this car. Eoghan's quiet, and Niall's pretty sure he can sense the tension. Then again, he'd have to be completely oblivious not to. 

Niall doesn’t turn away from the window, but he answers, “Mmhm.”

Bressie lets out a single chuckle. “Coulda recognized that accent a mile away.”

Niall doesn’t respond. He just readjusts himself, and continues watching the other cars go by. He’d noticed Bressie’s accent, too. It was the first thing he’d noticed, actually.

“Paul says you like football.”

There’s something different in Bressie’s voice, Niall notices. Not that he’s been paying keen attention to his voice. But throughout the day, it’s been all harsh commands and orders, Bressie constantly checking in with the guys in his earpiece when he wasn’t bossing Niall about or upsetting his fans or making him nervous as hell with his constant watch-dog posture. Now, it’s softer.

“Mmhm.” It’s all Niall can bring himself to say.

“Who’s your team?”

Niall sighs, a bit too loudly, he thinks. He doesn’t know why Bressie’s doing this. It’s not like he’s been apologetic about messing up Niall’s life these past 12 hours. Niall can’t figure why he suddenly wants to get chatty.

“Derby County.”

“See that?”

Niall turns to look at Bressie, confused. “See… see what?” he asks.

Bressie gives him something close to a smile. He’s still rigid and he’s still fairly monotone, but it’s there — a glimmer of something warm.

“We have something in common,” he says.

Niall chews his lip, then asks, “Do you still have family in Mullingar?”

Bressie’s gaze softens a bit more. “No,” he says.

Niall turns back to the window, and says quietly, “Then we don’t have all that much in common.”

No one gets it. Not Paul, not the guys in the band, and especially not Bressie.


	3. The Vault

**** Maybe it’s all the fans Bressie has forced Niall to disappoint over the past couple of days. Maybe it’s the fact that ever since Bressie came around, his whole team looks at him differently, and treats him differently — like he’s some sort of child who can’t take care of himself. Maybe it’s the way Bressie skulks around outside every restaurant, every studio, every  _ bathroom  _ even, like a freaking watchdog. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that Niall’s security team intercepted yet  _ another  _ letter, and Niall’s past the point of fear, and he’s moved on to feeling vindictive. Like he has to  _ prove  _ he’s not afraid, and that he won’t be intimidated, and that he’ll never give in to this psychopath who seems to want to frighten him away from stardom. 

But whatever the reason, Niall is feeling particularly combative with Bressie today — the day of his show at The Vault. A day he’s been dreaming of since he was a little kid. The capstone of his first world tour. Or, as his stalker likes to put it… his “final” show. 

Bressie started the day off nice enough, trying and failing once again to make smalltalk about Mullingar and football and Damien Rice and all the things he seems to have pryed out of Paul in an attempt to get Niall to like him. But Niall’s dismissed every attempt, because he’s not about to give the time of day to a guy who’s been trying all day to convince Paul, Niall, and the whole team that The Vault show needs to be  _ cancelled.  _

Niall can’t believe they’re still fighting about this mere minutes before they go onstage. They’re at the venue. They’ve made it through the zealous crowds outside and into the backstage area. They’ve soundchecked. The venue is open and the auditorium is packed wall-to-wall, and while the sight makes Niall a bit queasy from where he can see through a sliver in the curtain, he  _ wants  _ to do this. He wants to play this iconic venue for a wild, uninhibited, music-loving crowd. He  _ doesn’t _ want to let down the fans. 

And he  _ doesn’t  _ want to give in to a terrorist.

He’s just finished shouting as much right into Bressie’s face for about the hundredth time today. 

“I don’t even know  _ how  _ we are still having this conversation!” he whirls around to Paul, not expecting help but strapping on his guitar and his in-ears as he rants over the overwhelming noise from the crowds out in the auditorium. “We’re already here, they’re already waiting for us, we’ve got security at every door and I am  _ not  _ going to back down like a coward just cuz some nutcase has been sending me creepy letters!” 

(Even if the mental image of the last threatening letter he received sends a wave of nausea through his entire body. Which he has decided he is going to ignore.)

Bressie looks furious at this point, and it probably doesn’t help that Niall’s been a dick to him all day, but Niall really couldn’t care less right now. He’s poised to walk out onstage when Bressie turns on Paul. It’s like they’re goddamn children, trying to convince their exasperated parent who’s right and who’s wrong. 

“Paul, you hired me to do one job,” Bressie shouts over all the commotion, “and that job is to protect him.  _ Every  _ note we’ve seen has referenced  _ this  _ show. The suspect managed to get into fucking Croke Park and if they can manage that then they can certainly find their way in to this tiny fucking theater. If he goes out there, then you’ve hired me for no fucking reason—” 

The band is gathered by the curtain waiting, and that’s when Niall decides enough is enough. 

He shoots Bressie daggers before bounding off to stage, the band in tow. 

He hears a furious shout behind him and thinks he even hears footsteps pounding, but when he steps out and the lights go down, there’s no turning back. 

~

He hits the first chord, and he swears he can feel the room shake with the crowd’s adrenaline. At their cue the band joins in, once through the intro without percussion, a slow build, and then, Alex hits the beat full force, and they’re off.

Even with his in-ears, Niall can barely hear himself, but he trusts his pitch and can feel the rhythm pulsing through his veins. With the lights creating a kaleidoscope of color on the crowd, they don’t even look like humans, but like violent waves on a psychedelic sea lapping violently against the edges of the stage. 

The rush is exhilarating, so all-encompassing that Niall suddenly feels invincible, like all his fears and hesitations, and like he’s proven that all the warnings of his team and Paul and Bressie were ridiculous. Because when he’s out here, he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, doing what he’s supposed to do, no matter what anyone says. 

He knows Bressie is watching from the wings, and he knows Bressie gets more enraged with every second of the song that ticks by because of Niall’s disobedience, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins makes Niall want to rub a little more salt in that wound.

When the bridge of the song hits, and pulse of the crowd grows greater still, and the strobes are nearly blinding, Niall hits a chord and leaps into the air and then lands on the catwalk to the roars of the sea of screaming fans, and he feels more powerful than he ever has in his life… 

But the feeling only lasts so long. 

Throngs are pressed up against the sides of the catwalk on all sides, much closer than they were to the main stage. Their flailing arms and clawing hands grasp at his shoes, his legs, and as he plays he scowls through the blinding lights for an escape, for a way back, for any way out… but there’s nothing. Nowhere to go. And suddenly, his chest feels tight, his breathing quickens and he can’t sing, can’t see, can’t scream for help when hands start scratching at his ankles, and he distinctly feels one hand wrap around his leg and pull him down, pulling him down off the platform, and into the thrashing crowd. 

Then, the lights go out, and the music cuts out completely. There are different kinds of screams, now. It’s black, and it’s crowded, and Niall’s never been more terrified in his life. 

He screams, and he knows he’s screaming because he can  _ feel  _ himself screaming, he can feel the muscles in his chest contracting, he can feel the scratch and burn in his throat — but he can’t hear himself. He can’t hear his own cries for help as he’s suffocated in heat and noise and hundreds of hands grabbing at every inch of him... 

Conscious thought escapes him except for one notion: that this is it. 

And then, suddenly, a big pair of arms is encircling him and lifting him up off the ground, and he doesn’t know  _ how  _ he knows, but he does. He knows exactly who it is. 

He latches his arms around Bressie’s neck, wraps his legs tight around his waist, and hides his eyes in Bressie’s shoulder as the mountain of a man plows his way through the crowds in the pitch black auditorium as fast as his legs will carry them. Niall can feel people getting knocked over every which way and he can still feel the thrashing arms of hundreds of people surrounding him on all sides, but they’re moving. 

Bressie doesn’t stop, and he never loosens his grip around Niall’s quivering frame - not until they blast through one of the staff doors into the cavernous backstage area. Even then, he doesn’t let go. Just loosens a bit so he can lean over to Niall’s ear and whisper, “You’re okay, Niall. You’re okay.”

Niall can’t respond, but Bressie doesn’t make him. He carries Niall swiftly through to the loading dock, where Eoghan is waiting with the car. 

~

After what feels like an eternal drive — silent the whole way, Niall buried, shaking, in the arms of a man he all but loathed earlier today — they pull up to a nondescript apartment building on a quaint residential street, with little trees planted along the sidewalks, old-fashioned railings on the stoops, and electric candles in some of the curtained windows. 

Eoghan puts the car in park. 

“Need me to get out and have a look around?” he asks Bressie calmly. 

“You stay put,” Bressie says. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and much to the detriment of Niall’s nerves, he releases himself from Niall’s grasp. “You too,” he says pointedly, patting Niall on the leg. “Won’t be long.” 

He leaves the car and shuts the door behind him. Niall trusts Eoghan, but he feels significantly less safe with Bressie gone, even if he is just pacing calmly up and down the block, surveying the area. Thankfully, he comes back quickly. 

“Clear,” he says, and he gestures for Niall to leave the car. Niall obeys, slipping out onto the sidewalk and allowing himself to be wrapped under one of Bressie’s massive arms. He still pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, though. Just in case. 

After instructing Eoghan to text Paul the details and tell him Bressie will call soon, Bressie ushers Niall up a few concrete steps, through a big mahogany door, down a carpeted hallway with old-fashioned wallpaper, and finally, through a door with an old-fashioned lock, and into a dark apartment. 

It’s not dark for long, and when Bressie flips on the light, Niall can’t help but smile a little. It’s a side of Bressie he’s never seen before, and somehow, it feels like he doesn’t deserve to. It’s all warm earth tones and plaid hunter blankets and dark wooden surfaces. There are photos on the mantel of a big stone fireplace. There’s sporting gear in almost every corner. There’s a big Irish flag on one wall. Then, there’s a soft mewing by Niall’s feet, and when he looks down, sure enough, there’s a pretty tabby cat with big, green, curious eyes peering up at him. 

Bressie closes the door behind them. 

“You can pick her up, if you want,” he says, reaching down and scooping up the cat with one hand, then cradling her like a baby. “She loves it, don’t ya, Annie?” 

Without warning he passes her to Niall, and Niall stammers for a moment, but she’s so dang cute, he decides to just go with it. 

He pushes the hood off his hair and cradles Annie to his chest, scratching her ears and making her purr. It calms him down. There’s a little pang of indignation when Niall suddenly realizes that that was probably Bressie’s plan, but it doesn’t last long. After tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if his pride became a thing of the past altogether. 

“This is your place,” Niall says. 

Bressie hums in the affirmative, tidying up a bit in the kitchen. 

“I’ll wait for the OK from Paul, but I’m thinking you can stay here tonight. Probably best to just hunker down and let the dust clear. It’s safe here.” 

Niall steps up to the breakfast bar, and Annie claws her way up his hoodie to nuzzle at his neck. 

Bressie laughs, grins, “You two look good together.” 

“I like her,” he finally says, smiling as she continues to purr at his every touch. “Reminds me of Jess back home. ‘Cept Jess was never this nice to strangers,” he laughs. It’s still a nervous laugh, though. A shiver runs down his spine.  

Bressie chuckles too, then yawns, and stretches his obscenely big arms above his head, and Niall tries really, really hard not to look but he just can’t help his eyes from trailing… 

“We’re probably gonna be here a while, so do ya want some food, a shower…?”

“Definitely a shower,” Niall interrupts with a nod. He’s still a mess inside. Still can’t fully process what happened, or the fact this big brute in front of him is suddenly seeming a lot less brutish, and that he more or less just saved Niall’s life. 

~

Bressie knocks on the door just as Niall is moving toward the bed to pull on the t-shirt Bressie laid out for him, along with a pair of basketball shorts that he’s sure will slide down his legs the second he tries to put them on.

“Just a sec,” he calls.

The shorts are a lost cause. Even with the drawstrings pulled tight as they’ll go, they drop embarrassingly around his pale ankles. He sighs and sets them atop the dresser, opting for just the t-shirt and his own boxer-briefs. The shirt is also too big, of course. The collar’s so wide, it keeps slipping down and exposing his right shoulder to the cool air, but he tries to keep it in place as best he can. It’s soft from wear, though, and somehow, it makes Niall feel at home.

“You good, Niall?” comes Bressie’s voice, tenderly.

Niall hesitates another moment. He feels a little naked, and not just because he’s in nothing but a too-big t-shirt and underwear. Bressie’s already seen him at his most vulnerable tonight — terrified and panicking, helpless in the face of his greatest fear. But somehow, this — the aftermath — feels like a whole new layer of vulnerability that he’s not sure he’s ready to reveal.

But he doesn’t have much of a choice.

He climbs onto Bressie’s massive bed and pulls a pillow that’s nearly half his size onto his lap. It helps a little, having something to anchor him. (And for a bit of modesty. He’d go under the blankets, but he’s not completely certain he’s spending the night here yet and doesn’t want to seem presumptuous…) 

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. “I’m good.”

The door swings open, and Bressie comes in, his demeanor calm and together, but exuding a readiness to provide Niall whatever comfort he might need. He’s carrying a glass of water and a little bottle of blue translucent capsules, which he sets down on the nightstand before taking a seat on the side of the bed, by Niall’s criss-crossed legs.

“How ya feeling?”

Niall wrings a corner of the pillow in his lap, and takes a deep breath. Bressie’s watching him carefully.

“Better,” he says with a small nod. Bressie looks a little skeptical, but Niall doesn’t look away, and Bressie doesn’t push.

“Good,” he replies, “that’s good. I talked to Paul while you were washing up. The boys are all right, everyone’s safe. He agreed it’s best for you to spend the night here. Just as an extra safety measure.”

Niall’s a bit relieved at that. He knows it’s for the best. One of his absolute worst fears is someone in the band or the crew — someone he loves — getting hurt because of him. If that ever happened… he’s not sure how he’d go on.

“He’s cancelled the press that was scheduled for the morning,” Bressie continues, and Niall’s about to protest when Bressie interrupts him. “He insisted, and honestly, I think he made the right choice.”

Bressie’s looking at him so seriously, now, like it’s a matter of life and death. Niall feels a sickening swoop in his stomach when a little voice in his head reminds him,  _ That’s because it  _ is _ life and death _ .

“It wasn’t anything big, anyway. And they’re all going to want to ask you about tonight, which is out of the question. So,” he takes a deep breath, puts a hand on the mattress by Niall’s legs and leans in a little, “your morning is obligation-free.”

Bressie leans in closer yet, looking conspiratorial. He smirks, and Niall gives him a look that’s in equal parts confused and amused.

“Bet you haven’t heard that in a while,” Bressie smiles.

Niall closes his eyes for a second, and then he’s smiling too. “No,” he sighs, grinning, “I sure haven’t heard that in a good long while.”

“Well, there we have it, then,” Bressie grins. “A silver lining.”

He reaches out and gives Niall a comforting pat on the side of the head, then lets his hand roam down to give Niall’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Wanna get some sleep?”

A small scoff escapes Niall’s lips before he can help it. “Don’t know how much sleep I’ll be able to get after a night like this,” he sighs.

“Ah, funny you should mention it,” interjects, reaching for the pills on the end table. “Now, as you damn well know by now, I’m not one to condone gratuitous drug use. However, given the circumstances, I figured I could make an exception tonight.”

He tips the bottle so that one blue capsule falls into his hand. He offers it to Niall, who’s impressed.

“Always prepared, aren’t ya, Bressie?” he says, shaking his head.

Bressie looks more than a little proud when he nods his head, tips the pill into Niall’s open hand, and hands him the glass of water to wash it down.

After a few long gulps, Niall thanks Bressie again, and Bressie motions to the head of the bed. Niall scoots back toward the pillows so they can pull out the sheets and duvet.

It’s been years since Niall’s been tucked into bed. His mother and dad used to tuck him in every night. Every evening, unfailingly, when it was time for lights out, they’d be in to make sure he was nestled comfortably in his patchwork blankets, safe and sound.

He misses this simple comfort immensely on the road, and his heart suddenly swells in his chest when he realizes that Bressie is about to do it, just for him.

He doesn’t know how to react, at first, when he settles back against the pillows and Bressie scoots forward, grabs hold of the blankets, and tucks them snugly around Niall’s frame. It makes him almost painfully aware of how small he must look to Bressie, how youthful, and he feels a brief flush of embarrassment, right up until he finally meets Bressie’s eyes. That’s when the unease and insecurity dissolve.

Bressie’s looking at Niall with warmth and reassurance that calms Niall to the bone.

“Right, then,” Bressie murmurs, “I’ll be right out in the sittin’ room, if you need anything.”

He reaches for the light, and Niall panics, reaches out, grabs Bressie’s wrist, and pleads, “Wait.”

Bressie jumps, startled, and Niall feels a little bad, but the thought of being immersed in darkness right now is chilling, and he doesn’t think he can do it. Not tonight.

“I don’t, um… I can’t…”

Bressie just waits, patiently, with a questioning look in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna be in the dark tonight,” Niall finally breathes.

“Oh. Oh geez, Niall, of course… no worries—”

“And I don’t want to be alone. Not.. not just yet.”

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out, before he can help it they’re hanging in the air between him and the man he’s been trying for days to convince that all he wanted was solitude. He knows it’s hypocritical. He knows he’s been a pain in Bressie’s ass and that he deserves an ‘I told you so.’ And after the shitshow he caused tonight, he sure as hell knows the last thing he deserves right now is to have any of his demands fulfilled.

But this isn’t a demand. At least, he hopes Bressie realizes that it’s not.

It’s an admission.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hates that he can feel tears welling in his eyes, but he forges onward. “I’m so sorry, Bressie, for how I’ve been. I just…”

Bressie slowly adjusts Niall’s clutch on his wrist, intertwines their fingers and begins rubbing a thumb soothingly over the back of Niall’s hand.

“I just, I’ve been doing this for so long, and I guess I got to this place where I felt like I was invincible, you know? And maybe the whole time I’ve known deep down how ridiculous that is, but… but admitting I needed you made it real. It made everything real. It made the threats, the danger, everything… and I thought I could keep running, so I ran from you and made your life hell, but I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong and I’m really fucking sorry and I hope you can forgive—”

“Niall, Niall, Niall…”

Niall had picked up speed and was rambling on and on and hiccupping back tears.  _ Goddamnit _ , he thinks,  _ why you gotta cry in front of him _ …

“It’s okay,” Bressie says, gripping Niall’s hands a little firmer. He reaches forward to wipe away a few tears, and Niall melts into the touch.

“Yeah?” he quips.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s really, really okay. I mean yeah, you were a goddamn pain in the arse,” Bressie asserts, and Niall actually chokes up a laugh instead of a sob, which makes Bressie chuckle a little. “But of course I forgive ya. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for ya, having to be out there on your own, at your age, with your family so far away.”

Niall huffs a sigh and wipes away a few more tears. “It’s really lonely, sometimes,” he says. “It’s really…” he laughs, incredulously, “yeah, really fucking lonely.” Jesus, he thinks. He had no idea how much he needed to talk about all this, until now.

“I mean, yeah,” he continues, “I have Paul who’s amazing, and the band who got my back no matter what, and the whole crew are really incredible, but… it’s not the same, you know? It’s like there’s just this missing piece. Maybe it’s family or maybe it’s a girlfriend or a boyfriend or, or whoever, but… I don’t know, just someone to—”

“Someone to talk to,” Bressie finishes. “Really talk to, like. No facade, no performance, no secrets. Someone who really knows ya. Like, all the parts of ya.”

Niall’s quiet for a moment, but he nods. Yes, he thinks. Someone who knows me.

“I gotcha, Ni,” he whispers, nodding softly. The nickname rolls off the tongue with such ease, Niall almost doesn’t even catch it. As if it’s something Bressie’s called him forever.

He gets lost in thought for a moment, and then lost in a strange thoughtless void, before his mind jerks him back into consciousness. And then he remembers:  _ Oh yeah. Sleeping pill. _

The drug is ramming into him. His eyelids feel heavy and his body sags into the mattress, and he feels his hands going limp in Bressie’s grip.

“Stay?” he whispers, barely registering what he’s saying.

“You want… you want me to stay?” Bressie asks.

Niall’s eyes fully close, and he’s nearly gone, but he’s got just enough battery left to murmur, “Please… just… just tonight.”

The last thing he remembers is a dip in the mattress, and then, a sudden warmth enveloping him from behind, an embrace that comforts him right down to his very core.

~

Niall awakens gradually to faint sizzling sounds and the savory smell of fried bacon wafting into the bedroom to coax him from his blanket cocoon.

It doesn’t work quite as fast as it normally would, though, because the duvet is a blissful pocket of heat soothing his tired muscles, and the blinds are still closed, so there’s no harsh light to draw him out of bed. He whines at nothing in particular and draws the blankets more tightly around himself.

It’s the sound of Bressie’s voice that finally stirs him enough to open his eyes. It’s raspy, sweet, and a little goofy as he entertains himself, singing lyrics that Niall immediately recognizes.

“Stones taught me to fly… love taught me to lie… and life taught me to die… so it's not hard to fall… when you float like a cannonball…”

Niall finally opens his eyes and hoists himself into a sitting position, and when he takes in his surroundings, there’s a warm little tingle in his chest. It’s everything: the inviting smells and sounds of a sizzling hot breakfast, tiny strips of sunlight peeking through the drawn blinds, the rumpled linens of the slept-in bed.

_ Oh God,  _ he thinks.

Slept-in...  _ with Bressie. _

He relives the hazy memory a few times before he can be sure that yes, that happened. Yes, drug-addled Niall asked Bressie to spend the night with him. In the same room. In the same bed.

He panics for a moment, thinking Bressie might be put off, annoyed, or otherwise might think Niall is needy as hell or has no sense of boundaries. But he gathers himself and thinks about it rationally, reasoning that no Irishman who was in any way unhappy would be chipperly singing Damien Rice while frying bacon in the early morning.

He tells himself everything is  _ fine.  _ Nothing to worry about.

It won’t be awkward at all.

He tosses off the blankets, and freezes and feels himself go beet red when he realizes he’s about to walk out there, in broad daylight, without any pants. He shouldn’t be this self-conscious about it considering he wasn’t wearing any last night, but it was dark and he was sitting on the bed with a pillow, not strolling about the apartment in the light of day, and there’s something about the fact that Bressie and Niall  _ shared a bed  _ last night that’s making him hypersensitive to the idea of being less-than-fully clothed in front of Bressie… 

“Oh thank God,” he actually breathes aloud. He spots his jeans and his Strokes t-shirt, cleaned and neatly folded, on the dresser. 

That’s a relief. 

~

When he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he sees Bressie at the stove with his back to Niall, clad in a big gray t-shirt that fits his broad torso like a glove and the same basketball shorts Niall had tried to put on the night before. It’s feeling a little too intimate, again… Niall in jeans and bare feet and sleep-tousled hair, padding into the kitchen as Bressie hums and cooks. 

But it’s  _ comforting _ , somehow. 

Niall tugs at the hem of his t-shirt and takes a few more steps, until he’s crept up to the counter where Bressie’s laid out a bowl of blueberries, a plate of toast, and a couple of empty dishes for the food to come. Bressie still hasn’t noticed him, he’s still humming goofily to himself, and Niall grins a little, feeling like maybe right now, in this moment,  _ he  _ has the upper hand for once. 

“You know I’ve been lookin’ for a new backup singer,” Niall suddenly says, making Bressie jump and spin around with a brandished spatula. 

“Christ,” he heaves dramatically, but Niall’s glad when he chuckles and flicks a bit of egg in Niall’s direction. “Don’t scare me like that, Chief.” 

Niall’s pulse picks up speed when he catches the way Bressie’s eyes skim up and down his body, then meet his own eyes with a smile, but he plays it cool. 

“Chief?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow and sidling in by the stove to watch Bressie plate the eggs and give each piece of bacon one more flip before plating them as well. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Well, you’re the Chief, aren’t ya?” Bressie says matter-of-factly. 

Niall bites the inside of his cheek shyly.  _ Chief.  _ He likes it, he decidees. He can live with Chief. 

“Guess you do technically work for me,” he jokes, and Bressie rolls his eyes. 

When they settle in at the breakfast bar with full plates, Niall’s inexpressibly grateful for the generous mug of strong coffee Bressie pours him, and he’s already a few gulps in when Bressie takes a bit of bacon and asks as he chews, “Sleep alright last night?”

For a second Niall thinks this might be a trick question, but when he looks Bressie in the eye over his coffee mug, he can see that he’s genuinely asking. 

“Mmhm,” Niall nods, setting down the mug and picking at a piece of toast. “Barely remember falling asleep if I’m honest,” he laughs nervously. He’s not sure why he said that, and suddenly he’s wishing he hadn’t. 

_ Thank you for staying with me  _ is what he should have said, what he wants to say, but Bressie’s already said, “Good, that’s good,” and moved onto a new topic before Niall can backpedal. 

“I talked to Paul this mornin’,” he says, and his tone has Niall somewhat concerned about where this is going. “The investigation is obviously still open. Clearly this person is still out there, and he doesn’t feel like you’re totally safe until they’re caught.” 

_ Oh,  _ Niall thinks, relieved. That much doesn’t surprise him, and call him selfish, but he agrees. 

“That said,” Bressie adds, and Niall’s stomach clenches in preparation for what’s coming next that’s got Bressie so clammy… “He wants me to go home with you for the holidays, so... I’m coming with you tonight.” 

A huge chunk of scrambled egg gets caught in Niall’s throat and he hacks it up onto his plate, sputtering like a fish out of water while Bressie thumps his back and shoves a glass of water into his hand, but he can barely focus on drinking it down because… 

“ _ What? _ ”

“Niall—”

“No, no, Bres, you don’t…” he takes a second, pats his own chest to clear his throat and looks at Bressie. He’s not mad, and he’s not going to throw a tantrum like he might have with Bressie in the past — they’re beyond that now, after last night. And in any case, Bressie’s just the messenger and he looks so apologetic Niall almost doesn’t put up a fight. But he  _ has  _ to, because this  _ cannot happen.  _

“You don’t understand,” he asserts. “You  _ can’t  _ come home with me. It’s not a question. My family, they…”

Bressie already knows this, but he sighs resignedly and lets Niall make his case anyway. 

“They don’t have any concept of how  _ big _ I am, and by extension how much fucking danger I’m in every single day. They don’t know I need a security team, let alone a personal bodyguard. They have no idea that I’ve gotten death threats, they don’t know there’s an investigation, and if I have  _ any  _ say in the matter they will  _ never  _ know about what happened at The Vault…. Bressie, they would die,” he breathes. “They’d be so afraid, and I don’t want their lives to be tainted with all this shit.  _ I  _ can handle it… but they… they shouldn’t have to.”

“Niall, we don’t think anyone is going to come out to the house, but  _ if — God forbid —  _ someone does, I need to be there to protect you.  _ And  _ your family.”

Niall closes his eyes. He feels Bressie’s hand on his shoulder and he shudders under the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. He knows. Bressie’s right. He doesn’t have a choice. 

“Shit!” Niall yelps, when the harsh ring of his cell phone suddenly fills the room. He looks around and sees it resting on the counter, where Bressie has it plugged in and fully charged. 

He sees Bressie slump onto the counter with his face in his hands in his peripheral vision as he reaches for it and sees on the caller ID…  _ Home.  _

“Oh God,” he whisperes. 

Bressie lifts his gaze. “Niall?” 

“Oh God. Oh  _ God. Oh my God!”  _

“Niall, what’s—”

“What do I  _ tell _ them?!” he panics. He thought he’d have at least a few hours to figure out a strategy for this and now he’s going into full-on frenzy, his mind a constant loop of  _ shit, shit, shit…  _

“Niall listen, it’s okay, you can do it, all right? I’m right here, you can do this—”

“Jesus, fuckin’...” he takes in a huge breath, lets it out, and answers the phone in the most chipper voice he can possibly muster. “Heyyyy…”

“Hey there, Nialler,” comes Bobby’s fatherly rasp. 

Niall feels a small amount of relief that it’s his dad and not his mother, reasoning that he might take this news a bit better, but… end of the day, it’s going to be a catastrophe no matter what. 

“Just checkin’ in to see what time we can expect ya tonight. Your mam’s got a menu of all your favorites already underway but she’s insisting she doesn’t want to have everything ready too early or it’ll get cold or some such…”

“Yeah, no, yeah, she’s… she’s like that, I know,” Niall stammers, and Bobby just laughs. “What time will I be in? Erm…”

He looks to Bressie, who holds up his fingers and mouths,  _ Six.  _

“‘Bout six or so,” Niall relays, and Bressie nods, watching him intently. “Just in time for supper.” 

“Well, that’s a much welcome change from last year’s visit,” Bobby chuckles. 

“Jesus, da, how many times do I have to apologize for that—”

“Oh hush, I’m just teasing,” he says kindly, and Niall dreads to hear how his tone will change when he breaks the news to him. But Bressie’s still watching him expectantly, nodding his head and gesturing with hands for Niall to bring it up. 

“Well, I’ll tell your ma, and we’ll see you tonight, then—”

“Da, wait.” 

Niall feels like Bobby must be able to hear his heart right through the phone, and Bressie’s just staring at him, and the words are right on the tip of his tongue... but suddenly, his brain is backpedaling, looking for a way out. 

“Yes?” Bobby asks, patiently. 

“I’m, um, there’s something I need to tell you. About tonight.” 

“‘M all ears, son.” 

“I, um…” 

_ You can do it,  _ Bressie mouths. He’s trying to be comforting, but it’s just not working. 

“I’m bringing someone home with me. To… um, to… to meet you all, and, and if it’s okay, to like, spend the holiday with us, with the whole family, actually. He’s my…” 

His dad waits. Bressie stares. The word is right there, but he just can’t say it. 

“My b…b…”

_ Say it,  _ Bressie urges,  _ You can do it.  _

“My... b...b… boyfriend!” 

It’s out there before Niall can even think about stopping himself. His heart is hammering. Bressie’s jaw is on the floor. Silence hangs in the air and the suspense for Bobby’s response is killing him inside, until… 

“Oh, Niall… Niall… Niall! Lad, why didn’t ya say anything to us? You know how long you’re ma’s been goin’ on about how you’ll never meet a nice lad or lady while you’re out there workin’ so hard like you do, and here you’re telling me you’re bringing a lad home for Christmas? Nialler, that’s the most wonderful news, how long ya been together? What’s the young man’s name, how’d ya meet each other? Is he good to ya? He better be good to ya, Niall…” 

“Yeah, yeah, jeez da, slow down, hold up, he’s uh, uh…” 

_ Wide-eyed? Speechless? Unable to pick his jaw up off the floor where he dropped it?  _ These are some of the descriptors that come to mind as Bressie looks at Niall like he’s just sprouted two extra heads. 

“He’s sort of on the tour crew, part of the big team that, you know, follows us around, helps us out.” 

Bressie slumps onto the counter, scrubs a hand over his face. Niall’s gonna get an earful when this phone call is over, that’s sure as hell. 

“His name’s Bressie… Breslin. Well, his first name is Niall, actually,” he laughs, and Bobby does too. “Funny, innit? But everyone calls him Bressie, so, you can call him Bressie.”

“And is Bressie good to you?” 

Niall pauses a moment, and looks over at Bressie. The silence must rouse Bressie from his slump, because he looks up and meets Niall’s eyes. Niall thinks about last night, and the next thing he says doesn’t even feel like a lie. 

“Yeah, da. Yeah, he is. He really is.”

Somehow, he feels like Bressie could tell what the question was. 

Bobby hums, happily. Then he tuts, “And why exactly did you wait so long to tell us, son? I’m assuming you been together a while, considering you’re bringing him home to meet all your kin.”

Bressie’s expression has changed from shocked to resigned to amused, and now, he’s leaning back, watching a little vindicated as Niall awkwardly weaves his way through this web of lies. 

Niall mouths a  _ fuck you  _ in his direction, and Bressie just shrugs, smirks, and watches Niall flounder. 

“Been together for a bit, yeah,” Niall says. “I guess I didn’t tell you guys because I was just worried what you’d think, considering he’s, he’s…”

Bressie rolls his eyes and mouths harshly,  _ YOUR BODYGUARD! _

“Older,” Niall blurts, and Bressie’s jaw hits the floor once again. 

It’s Niall’s turn to smirk now.

“Ah,” Bobby drawls, “about how much older?”

“Like... thirties…?” Niall lilts, and Bressie sighs and holds up four fingers. “Thirty-four! I mean,” Niall gathers himself a little, “Yeah, thirty-four. He’s thirty-four.”

“Oh, now that’s no so bad, Nialler,” Bobby reassures him. “Only a few more years than me and your mam have between the two of us. Sure, it’s a bit of a gap, but when a person’s good for you, you just know. And it sounds to me like you know.”

“I…” 

Niall pauses, feels his mouth hanging agape as he takes Bressie in. 

“Yeah,” he finally breathes. Bressie’s looking at him a little oddly, now, like he’d very much like to know what Bobby had asked him on the other side of the conversation. “I do.” 

They wrap up the rest of the conversation with a few pleasantries, and Niall promises he’ll see them soon before hanging up the phone and bracing himself for the fireworks.


	4. The Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, lovely people! As it turns out, this thing is going to be in five parts, now. One more still to come. Hope you all enjoy :)

It’s not that Niall would ever  _ want  _ to be yanked offstage during a concert by a potential terrorist who managed to cut power at the venue and might be trying to take Niall’s life. But in a way, he’s grateful for the timing. 

If all of that madness was going to happen anyway, it’s a good thing it happened right around the same time Niall forced Bressie to pretend to be his boyfriend for a long weekend. 

As they traverse acres of farmland through snowy Mullingar—Bressie in the driver’s seat, Niall in the passenger’s—Niall is thanking his lucky stars that Bressie is actually being nice to him. After what Niall is making him do, he could just as easily be acting like a total asshole. 

“Okay, one more time,” Bressie says, glancing at the clock above his radio. It's 5:46 in the evening. They’ll be at Niall’s parents’ house in less than 15 minutes.

“We’ve been dating for six months,” Niall repeats. “You’re my guitar technician, you help set up sound equipment and whatnot and switch my guitars between songs. We started hanging out after concerts and chatting—”

“Realized we were both from Mullingar—”

“Both Derby fans—”

“Went to the same secondary school—”

“Tons in common, exactly,” Niall nods. 

“Just hit it off, right from the beginning, but we didn’t tell anyone because—”

“Because you’re old,” Niall deadpans, trying hard not to crack a smile but failing miserably. 

“I am not old, you little shit, _you’re_ just a little kid…”

“Irrelevant,” Niall laughs. Bressie does too, but his smile quickly vanishes to be replaced with that serious, focused look he’s had for the majority of the drive. 

Niall sighs and looks out the window at all the trees zipping past in the darkness. He still can’t believe this is happening. They’re about to spend four days under his parents’ roof, and for those four days, Bressie is boyfriend, and no one knows about this plan besides the two of them. Not even Paul, who’s convinced that Niall simply explained the situation to his parents, and all is well. As  _ if.  _

His parents think he’s bringing home the love of his life, and he needs to act like he’s the happiest kid in the world, all while being painfully aware that an ongoing investigation into these threats and incidents has hardly turned up anything. The guy is like a ghost. It’s like he can walk through walls, place his little notes wherever he wants, and then vanish into thin air. And how he managed to cut power in The Vault during an actual show,  _ and  _ be on the ground in time to pull Niall offstage… it’s almost… inhuman. 

Unless, of course, as Paul conjectured, there is more than one person involved in these threats. Or, maybe Niall getting pulled into the crowd was truly an accident that just happened to occur right when Mystery Stalker cut the power. It wouldn’t be the first time throngs had grabbed at him—just the first time he actually got pulled into harm’s way. 

Paul’s keeping them both updated, and Niall’s praying that soon enough, he’ll get a text or call that it’s all over. He's hoping beyond belief that Paul will ring any day and tell him the person’s been caught. Then, he can stop sleeping with the lights on. 

In the meantime, he and Bressie have to make this work. 

“So, what about, like… physical contact?” 

The question hits Niall right between the eyes, knocking him out of his daydreams. He flounders, stammers, doesn’t know what on earth to say. He hadn’t thought of  _ that _ . 

“What… what do you mean?” he asks, even though he knows exactly what Bressie means. 

He can tell how hard Bressie is trying to keep his voice level and not sound like he’s just as nervous about this as Niall is. 

“I mean,” he says, “we might need to make an effort to… you know…  _ look  _ like we’re a couple. But obviously, we need to, like, set boundaries, and such. I don’t want to do anything that would make you, you know, uncomfortable.”

“Same here. About you,” Niall says. He thinks he catches an amused sort of smile on Bressie’s lips, but he ignores it. “So… how do we feel about, like, hand-holding?”

Suddenly he can’t ignore Bressie’s smile anymore, all lit up by the reflection of the headlights as he chuckles, “Yeah, I can hold your hand, Chief. It’s a tall order, but I think I can manage.” 

Niall’s neck feels a little warm, but again, he ignores it. “Okay, good. Now you come up with something cuz I can’t be doing all the work here.” 

“How about, like… you can put your arm around my waist… since you’re so small and there’s no way in hell you can get it around me shoulders.”

“Oh,  _ ha ha ha. _ ”

“I’m just saying,” Bressie grins. 

Niall pulls his legs up onto the seat, and settles into the heated leather a little more. “Fair enough,” he shrugs. 

“What else, Chief?”

“Erm… I supposed we could… sit together, you know? Always next to each other. At the table, and in the sittin’ room, and… yeah.” 

Bressie nods, “Can do.” 

“Anything else?” 

Bressie seems to be relaxing a bit now. It almost feels like they’re just playing a word game or something equally innocuous as they kill time on the car ride, and Niall’s just getting comfortable with all of this when Bressie says, “I s’pose I can, you know, kiss you... on the forehead?”

A weird tingly sensation takes hold of Niall’s whole body, and when he envisions it happening, he feels like maybe it’s something he...  _ wants _ . Maybe a blush creeps up his cheeks at the thought. 

“Chief?” 

“Huh?” 

“Would that… would that make you uncomfortable?” 

_ No,  _ Niall thinks, boldly in his head, _O_ _ f course not.  _

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Bressie looks thoughtful, careful, like he’s treading in unknown territory. But his expression softens when Niall continues, “No, that… yeah, I think that’d be good.”

They fall silent for a moment, each staring through the windshield at the snow-covered road before them. Niall’s stomach does a little flip when, sure enough, coming into view are the old wooden gates to the farm, with a postbox on one side that reads, in green, swooping letters,  _ Horan _ .

“Jesus…” Niall mutters, letting his head sink to his hands. His breathing is picking up. His heart is racing. This is  _ not  _ how he usually feels when he gets to come home to his family. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t want to lie to them, but…

Bressie’s hand is on his shoulder in an instant. “Nialler, hey, you’re okay. We’re gonna be fine.”

Niall laughs, though there’s not much humor in it. “Are we?” he asks, looking up and catching Bressie’s eye. 

Bressie tightens his grip and nods firmly, “Yes. Yes we are. We got this, okay?” 

Niall reaches up and takes hold of Bressie’s hand, squeezing it tight. Bressie glances at their clasped hands and looks to Niall curiously. Niall just chuckles, “Might as well get started now, yeah?”

~

The house never changes, and Niall wouldn’t have it any other way. As they pull up the driveway, Niall can see light pouring from almost every window on the big, beautiful log cabin where he was raised. Even the light in his old bedroom is on, illuminating one of the many snow-coated dormers on the second floor. The trees and shrubs are all wrapped in little colored lights, there’s a snowman in the yard, holly on the door, and by the time Bressie puts the car in park, there are already three Horans bounding down the front stoop toward the driveway. 

Niall takes a deep breath, meets Bressie’s eyes and… “Here we go.” 

Bressie nods resolutely, and they leave the car. 

Niall is instantly avalanched in crushing hugs from his brother and sister-in-law, plus the most adorable bonus hug around his knees from his little nephew, and for a few moments, all the fears melt away, and he’s just laughing, hugging them back, trying to make sense of all the “welcome homes!” they’re excitedly bellowing right in the middle of the snow-covered drive. 

He barely escapes from their clutches before they’re converging on Bressie, and Niall’s more than a little embarrassed at how enthusiastically they’re greeting this man that they’ve literally never met and believe to be Niall’s boyfriend. 

But Bressie’s… good at this. He’s really good at this. He doesn’t look put off or uncomfortable in the slightest as Denise introduces herself and gives him a warm hug, and Greg does the same. 

“Niall, we’re so happy to have you with us for the holidays, even if Nialler did keep you a secret for however many months…” Denise says, shooting Niall an eye roll. 

“For starters, you can call me Bressie,” Bressie laughs, “or things will get really confusing really fast.” 

“Bressie it is, then,” Greg smiles. “We’re thrilled to have ya, really. Our family’s Christmas festivities are truly famous in these parts, so you’re in for an exhausting but enjoyable few days.” 

Denise and Greg don’t seem to have any reservations about chatting Bressie’s ears off, and Niall is about to interject when a tiny voice from down by his legs calls up to him, “Uncle Niall! Is  _ he  _ Niall too?” 

Niall looks down to see little Theo tugging on the edge of his coat, glancing curiously back and forth between the man he knows as “Uncle Niall,” and this strange new Niall who just appeared in his life. Niall bends down and scoops Theo up in his arms and gets a squeal of delight in response. 

“Yeah, bud, that’s Niall too, but people don’t usually call him that. They call him Bressie. So you can too, yeah?” 

“Yeah… because… because  _ you’re  _ Niall, right?” 

“That’s right, bud,” Niall grins, and Theo wraps his little arms around Niall’s neck and Niall squeezes him tight. 

Suddenly, the stern voice of Niall's mother is yelling out the front door, “You lot are gonna freeze yerselves to death! Get inside and let me hug my son and meet this lovely boyfriend I’ve heard  _ next to nothing _ about!” 

Niall meets Bressie’s eyes, and Bressie’s smiling at him, and his cheeks are pink… but it’s probably just the cold.

Greg and Denise link arms and lead the way, Denise calling behind her, “C’mon all, let’s get you two situated, and then it’s dinner!”

Still holding Theo tight in his arms, Niall scoots up next to Bressie, and they start making their way up the path together. Theo pulls away from where he was tucked into Niall’s shoulder, and starts looking Bressie up and down, curiously. 

“And you must be Theo,” Bressie smiles. 

“Mmhm,” Theo nods, before blurting, “And you’re really, really,  _ really  _ big!”

“Theo!—” Niall starts, but Bressie just laughs. 

“I’m so big, I bet if I carried you on my shoulders, you’d be able to see the whole world from up there.” 

In a second Theo is wriggling madly and grabbing at Bressie’s jacket, “Lemme see! Lemme see!” 

Without missing a beat, Bressie lifts the little boy high in the air, sits him atop his shoulders, and Theo shouts out, “Mamma! Daddy! Look how big I am!”

And Niall’s heart might ache at the sight. Just a little bit.

_ Okay,  _ he thinks.  _ I can do this. I can do this.  _

~

The house is toasty warm and inviting from the moment they cross the threshold, and Niall is overjoyed to do the one thing he looks forward to most when coming home: throw himself into his parents’ arms, and let them squeeze him until it hurts. It’s the most wonderful feeling he thinks he’ll ever experience, and this time is no different. 

Well, it is a _little_ bit different.

Because after a long, long hug, and plenty of kisses from his mother and hair ruffles from his dad, his parents are turning to greet another man standing beside him. 

They’re so kind and welcoming, which doesn’t surprise Niall at all. Seeing Maura’s tiny frame reaching up to pull Bressie down into a hug puts the biggest smile on Niall’s face. Watching Bobby clasp Bressie’s hand with both of his own and thank him for joining them for the holiday… it all feels strangely…  _ not  _ strange. 

“I really can’t thank you enough for lettin’ me come out here on such short notice,” Bressie says to Niall’s beaming parents. “I’m only sorry this is the first time we’re meeting. Your son is…” 

He glances at Niall. Niall swallows hard. 

“... truly special. To me. And the apple never falls far from the tree, so…” that gets a laugh out of Bobby and an even bigger smile out of Maura. “Thank you, truly. Lookin’ forward to spending some time with everyone this weekend.”

“Well we’re  _ equally  _ happy, I can assure ya, love,” says his mom.

Niall’s hands are clammy. Beneath the relief that everything is off to a good start, there’s still fear that someone might find out the truth. It might be that fear that drives him to step forward and, just like Bressie had suggested in the car, slip an arm around his waist and smile up at him. 

~

Bressie’s so good at telling the story of how they got together, he almost convinces  _ Niall.  _ He absolutely convinces Maura and Bobby, and Niall’s sure he’d have convinced Greg and Denise had they actually been listening and not trying to stop Theo from crawling onto the tabletop or feeding Jess as she paws around the legs of his chair. 

Niall’s chiming in when he can, but for the most part, his parents are doing the talking, and Bressie is keeping up at an impressive pace. Much to Niall’s relief, he makes a conscious effort to talk about things  _ other  _ than their “relationship,” clearly in an attempt to minimize the lying as much as he can. He’s got eyes on Niall through it all. They’re in this together, and Niall’s grateful for the constant reminder. 

“Now, lad, I have to ask,” Bobby says, addressing Bressie from across the table. “You wouldn’t by chance be related to Mandy Breslin, now would you?”

Niall can swear he feels Bressie stiffen a little beside him, but he’s not at all sure why. Over the rim of his beer glass, Niall peers at Bressie, who nods, keeps eye contact with Bobby, and responds in the softest possible tone, “My mam.” 

Bobby nods, and Maura makes a quiet, almost sympathetic sound.

Niall, for his part, stays quiet. But there’s a hint of dread stirring in his belly. 

“Your mother was such a good friend to us, lad, and to everyone in this town,” Bobby says. “‘Specially the farmers. We just… we are so, so sorry about what happened. Truly.”

Denise and Greg tune back into the conversation and share their condolences as well, and even Theo quiets down, and Niall suddenly feels like he’s the only one in the room who doesn’t fully understand what’s going on. 

“Thank you, Bobby,” Bressie says. “I am too.” 

Niall opens his mouth to ask something, anything, that will help him understand, but words fail him. Before he knows it, Bressie is finding a respectful segue away from this topic and into another. Dinner continues, warm and amiable, but with the faintest shadow hanging over Niall’s head. 

He really doesn’t know anything about Bressie, does he? Sure, he’s been a lot nicer to him since The Vault. Yeah, they’ve got something like a rapport going on, something like newfound mutual respect. But clearly, there are some really important things that he doesn’t know about—and never bothered to find out. 

_ Not a great start to a relationship,  _ he thinks a little grimly. He sighs, corrects himself:  _ pretend relationship.  _

Bressie glances at him curiously, almost like he can hear Niall’s thoughts. He’s all concerned eyes and kind, comforting smiles as he swallows a spoonful of stew, and all Niall keeps thinking is, he doesn’t deserve a companion, a  _ friend,  _ like this. 

~

Niall and Bressie both make a chivalrous effort to help clean up after dinner, but Maura positively insists that they vacate the kitchen and get themselves to bed after their day of travel. After delegating dishes to Bobby and Greg, she’s bustling back to the foyer where they’ve dropped their bags and then leading them up the stairs to the second floor, rambling and pointing as she briefs Bressie on where to find all the various amenities and telling him for about the hundredth time, “If you need anything at all, just ask, love.” 

Bressie’s casting amused glances over his shoulder at Niall as they climb the stairs, and Niall just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. The Horans are nothing if not hospitable. 

It’s not until they reach the threshold of his childhood bedroom, though, that Niall realizes there is another  _ very  _ important aspect of being pretend boyfriends that they haven’t discussed. 

“Ma!” he suddenly yelps as she turns the doorknob. 

“Goodness, Niall! What’s the matter, dear?” 

“I’ll get Bressie all set up in here… do you want me to set meself up in the sitting room?” 

Niall bites his lip, Bressie flushes pink and Maura, much to Niall’s horror, busts out laughing. 

“Oh Niall, dear, I’m not under any illusions that you two aren’t snugglin’ up together while you’re out there on the road,” she laughs, patting one of Niall’s fully red cheeks in that embarrassing way that only a parent does. She then proceeds to make him go about ten times redder when she puts one hand on Bressie’s shoulder, one hand on Niall’s, and scoots them together until their arms are flush side-by-side. 

“And my goodness, with how hard you’re both workin’ all the time, you’ll probably be grateful for the time to enjoy as much of each other’s company as you can, and I certainly don’t want the fact that you’re stayin’ with us to get in the way of that. You’ll be nice and cozy in here together.”

_ Cozy is one way to put it,  _ Niall thinks with a grimace as the door swings open and his mother switches on the light. 

The room isn’t  _ tiny,  _ but there are enough relics of Niall’s childhood and teen years crammed into it that it sure as hell  _ feels  _ tiny. There are mounds of books overflowing on his shelves, stacks upon stacks of sheet music (some printed, and much of it handwritten by teenage Niall), old guitars, a huge armchair by his window and a double mattress that is definitely not big enough for a guy like Bressie, let alone a guy like Bressie  _ and  _ another human being… to say nothing of a basket of stuffed animals that Niall is wishing his mother had had the sense to put in the attic before he brought over his 34-year-old fake boyfriend, for crying out loud.

“There we are!” Maura says jovially, ushering the two of them inside, “Home sweet home. There’re fresh towels in bathroom for the both of you, plenty of extra blankets in the chest under the window there, breakfast will be ready by nine, and anything else you need, you know I’m just—”

“Right down the hall, yeah ma, we know,” Niall scoops her into his arms to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and usher her hastily out of the room. 

“Oh yes indeed,  _ those  _ are the manners I raised ye to have,” she tuts. 

“ _ Thank you,  _ ma, really,” Niall says, giving her the best smile he can possibly muster amid this humiliation. 

“Thank you so much, Maura, truly,” Bressie chimes in from somewhere behind Niall. 

“Oh, hush now, this is what mothers do best. Just so glad you’ve found a nice man to look out for you while you’re so far away from home…”

“I know ma…"

She beams at him, and this time, he caves, and gives her a real hug. She still has that power over him. Though he’ll never admit it. 

They murmur their final goodnights, and taking a deep, deep breath, Niall closes the door behind her. 

He’s afraid to turn around. 

“Niall?” 

He takes another gulp of air and turns, only to catch sight of a smiling Bressie who breaks into a quiet fit of chuckles.  “Didn’t think about this one, did we?” 

Feeling a bit of weight lifted off his shoulders, Niall chuckles too, letting himself fall against the door and scrubbing two hands over his face. “No, Bres, we sure as hell didn’t.” 

He wants to say they can share the bed, if Bressie wants. If he’s okay with it, in the same way Niall is. He wants Bressie to know he’s comfortable— _ more  _ than comfortable—with that. They’ve done it before, after all, so why aren’t the words coming out? Why can’t he just  _ say  _ it, just  _ ask  _ Bressie if he’d be okay with that… 

_ Because last time was different,  _ Niall thinks, dejectedly.  _ Last time I was practically traumatized and I was afraid of the dark and drug-addled and he felt sorry for me. He wouldn’t want to do that again. I don’t have an excuse, this time…  _

“Listen, I’ll set up on the floor, okay?” Bressie offers.

Niall immediately feels guilty. “Geez, Bres, no, you take the bed…”

“Niall, seriously, I’ll take the floor,” he insists. “You’re home for the holidays, the least you oughta be able to do is sleep in your own bed. My big ole legs’d be hangin’ off at the knee anyway,” he grins. And it’s genuine. He’s always so genuine, Niall thinks.

“I…” Niall crosses his arms over his chest, and sighs with a defeated smile. “All right. Thanks, Bres. You take bathroom first, then, and I’ll make you up something resembling a mattress, yeah?” He heads for the cedar chest and begins bringing out blankets that he can instantly tell are freshly laundered. God bless his mother. 

“Don’t work too hard. I’m low maintenance, me.”

“Such a catch,” Niall jokes, spreading the first of many blankets out on the floor by his bed. “Hey!” he yelps when Bressie playfully knocks him on the side of the head. But by the time he turns to strike back, Bressie has already taken his pajamas and toothbrush into the bathroom and shut the door. 

Not long later, a freshly showered Bressie is stretched out on the floor in basketball shorts and a t-shirt on what Niall feels is a pretty well-made nesting area, complete with a big pillow and several of his mother’s best homemade quilts. Niall exits the bathroom after his own shower, all warm and sleepy in flannel trousers and long sleeves. 

Bressie clicks out a quick message on his phone before switching it off and setting it, plugged into the wall, on the floor by Niall’s nightstand. 

Niall makes his way across the room and hops onto his bed, checking messages on his own phone before switching it off and setting it right there by his alarm clock. 

“You’re gonna get cancer if you do that,” Bressie says, suddenly. 

“Do what?”

“Sleep with your phone that close to your head.” 

Grateful to fill what could otherwise be a slightly awkward silence, Niall snorts. “And you’re the expert on this because…”

“Read it somewhere,” he deadpans. 

“Oh, well, case closed then.”

Niall peeks over the edge of the bed, and seeing Bressie there beneath him, his big hands holding cozy-looking blankets to his big chest, and his big eyes looking tired but somehow still playful under the light of Niall’s bedside lamp… it all feels incredibly intimate, which he tries to ignore. 

“Just sayin’,” he smirks. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”

He flips back onto his pillows and tucks himself beneath his bedding. 

He reaches for the lamp, then pauses. 

“Okay if I, erm, turn it off?”

“Go on, Chief.”  

Niall smiles the tiniest bit before switching off the light and settling into bed. 

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Niall feels like he should say something, but he’s nervous.  _ Just say ‘goodnight,’  _ he thinks,  _ then there won’t be any pressure to talk. Just say it. Go on, say ‘goodnight…’  _

“Your family are a sweet bunch there, ya know that?” 

The voice in Niall’s head goes quiet. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “they are, aren’t they?” 

Bressie hums in agreement. 

“Bres?” Niall asks.

Another hum. 

“What… what happened to your mam?” 

Bressie doesn’t say anything, and Niall immediately regrets asking. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine, Niall. Erm… I went to the Regional Training Center in Dublin. Da was military so I’d always known I’d do somethin’ like he did. He died when I was little.”

Niall makes an involuntary sound of sympathy. He can't imagine losing a parent. Truly, can't even imagine it. Bressie continues. 

“Ma was sort of… political. Well, not so much politician as an activist. She had a way of making sure the little folks’ voices got heard. Little folks like the ones here in Mullingar where we were raised…”

“Like my mam and dad,” Niall interjects.

“Mmhm. That, and all sorts of other causes. She was known to, erm,” he chuckles suddenly, “sorta stir up a ruckus when she was in front of big government officials. Not like, violence or anything. Just her big voice and her big words were pretty much unstoppable. She could rally people for a cause like no one I’ve ever seen. But sometimes I got scared for her. You’re a public figure, you speak up on political issues… it can be dangerous.” 

“Anyway, she came to Dublin for this big important rally after I graduated from training, and I already had my first job in public security. I finally felt a little better knowing I’d be right there to protect her if anything went wrong. Well I…”

Niall hears him swallow hard. Meanwhile, he clutches a handful of his blankets to his chest and feels a lump rising in his own throat. 

“I failed. Couple of... dissident republicans... opened fire, killed six people. One of them was my mam.”

“...  _ Shit… _ Bres…”

“I just… I tried…” Bressie’s keeping his voice level, but just so. Niall can hear the ghost of a quiver underneath his words. “I tried to run to her, but I was stationed at the opposite end of the square, and I had to get everyone else outta harm’s way, there were so many people— _ young  _ people, even—I stayed to get everyone on that side of the road out of the line of fire first. And by the time I could get to where she’d been heading it off, she was…” he takes a deep, steadying breath. “She was shot. I knew it was fatal, just to look at it. By the time we got her to the hospital, she was gone.”

“Bressie, I… I don’t even know what to say except I am so, so sorry," Niall whispers. "I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like, to like, hold her… while she…” Niall hates that he’s fighting back tears, but the mental image of that happen to one of  _ his own  _ family members is almost too much to bear.

“But the worst part was, Niall, that I could’ve  _ stopped  _ it.” 

At that, Niall hoists himself up onto his side, turns to look over the edge of the bed where Bressie is lying. Niall can just make out his silhouette in the dark, but he can see him trying to steel himself.

“Bres… you can’t blame yourself for that. You just can’t. It wasn't your fault…” 

“But in a way, Niall, it  _ was—” _

“No, Bres, it wasn’t. You did your job. You were braver than most anyone would have been. You got the people who were closest to you to safety. Think if you’d abandoned them? Think how many other lives coulda been lost. Your mam… you make her proud, Bres. Jesus, I never even knew her, but I know she’s so proud of you.”

Niall hears Bressie sniffle just a little, and before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s climbing out of bed, slipping down to the floor, and sitting with his legs folded by Bressie’s side. He reaches out in the dark, and somehow, he finds Bressie’s massive hand and squeezes it tight. And all Niall can think in this moment is that Bressie ran headfirst into that crowd to rescue him. Niall doesn’t even want to think about what could have happened to him if Bressie hadn’t. This is a man who very well may have saved his life.

And Niall's no saint, certainly, but hell if he's going to let Bressie feel guilt over something he couldn't control. 

“She’d have liked you,” Bressie says through a watery laugh. 

“How do ya mean?” 

Bressie squeezes Niall’s hand back, his palms rough, but warm and comforting all the same. “You’re both stubborn as hell and put family before all else.”

“Why’d you take this job, Bres?” Niall wonders. “Show business. It seems like a far cry from politics.” 

Niall’s eyes are adjusting, and he can see Bressie's contemplative expression a little better now.

"I wanted to give it up altogether, at first," he says. "But I couldn't do it. I just... I'm not particularly religious or anything, but for some reason I always felt like I was put on this earth to protect people who, for whatever reason, couldn't protect themselves. And when I couldn't save her, I just... I wanted to make sure I spent the rest of my life trying to help as many people as possible. Like maybe, that would make up for it, and I'd do her memory proud. I don't know, it's probably silly."

"It's not," Niall says firmly. And he's a little relieved to see that Bressie looks like he's listening, and he's grateful. 

“The other part is, I figured if there’s a chance I can look out for another one of me own… another Mullingar man… then that’s a chance I wanted to take,” he says. “Plus, when your management called, it’s not like I didn’t know who you were.”

Okay,  _ that  _ Niall didn’t expect. 

“You… you knew my music?”

Bressie scoffs like Niall just asked him the silliest question in the world. “Yeah, Niall, I knew your music.”

“You… you never said…”

“Call it ‘tryin’ to be professional,’” he says, with a defeated kind of chuckle. “You’re a great musician, Niall.”

“Niall Breslin, are you telling me that you’re a  _ fan  _ of mine?”

“Now don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth—”

“Your words, not mine—hey!”

Bressie laughs wickedly after yanking the pillow out from under his own head and whacking it against Niall, successfully knocking him sideways onto the floor. 

“So much for protecting me!” Niall whines, shoving the pillow roughly into Bressie’s face. 

Bressie snatches it quickly and puts it back under both their heads, then turns on his side. Suddenly he and Niall are face-to-face, sharing a pillow, on a nest of blankets on Niall’s bedroom floor, in the dark. “Gotta keep you on your toes is all,” he jokes quietly.

Niall can’t suppress a grin, and even in the dark he can see the way Bressie’s looking at him, and it makes him fluster. 

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward. Lean forward, slip a hand against Bressie’s cheek, and… 

“You stayin’ down here, then?” Bressie whispers. 

“Looks like,” Niall whispers back. He knows he missed his chance, though. It’s not entirely explicable, but the moment, he knows, is gone. But somehow, that doesn’t make him any less pleased that he’ll be spending yet another night by Bressie’s side.

“Goodnight, Chief,” Bressie says, eyes drifting closed.

“Goodnight, Bres.” 

~

Niall wakes early the next morning to warm sunlight, a steady snowfall outside his window, and a flurry of chipper voices drifting up the stairs from the kitchen. He’s a bit disoriented when he realizes that he’s tucked into bed again, and for a brief moment, he wonders if the previous night had been nothing but a dream. 

He knows it wasn’t, though. One, because he can hear Bressie’s voice loud and clear downstairs. Two, because there are remnants of a blanket nest on the floor, though a good bit of said blankets have been tossed over Niall’s body for extra warmth, which leaves Niall with the realization that Bressie must have picked Niall up and placed him back into bed early this morning. 

The thought has barely begun to fluster him when he catches some mortifying words from the voices downstairs, whom he immediately recognizes as belonging to his cousins.

“And this is Niall’s third Halloween—”

“I’m pretty sure he was that red teletubby like six years in a row—”

“And here he is with his first set of braces—”

“Oh and  _ this  _ gem was when he was four and went through a phase where he refused to wear clothes—”

Niall's eyes go dangerously wide and he bounds out of bed on the biggest adrenaline rush he’s ever experienced in his life, bolting down the stairs in his pajamas, yelling at the top of lungs, “Deo you put those pictures away  _ right this second  _ or I am going to  _ strangle _ you!” 

(And Bressie’s bellowing laughter is  not  helping _at all_.) 


End file.
